Of all the Letters in the Alphabet
by WaltzMatildah
Summary: A one shot for each alphabet letter. Characters pairings genres etc all vary depending on the prompt. Mostly they're angsty and Alex-centric. 14th Letter. R is for Reaction. Alex and Cristina, an unexpected kiss and an even more unexpected reaction.
1. U is for Unexpected

Title: U is for Unexpected...

Word Count: 960

Rating: PG

Characters/Pairing: Mark and Alex... but not slash...

Summary: This was so far from how Mark had been intending to spend the early hours of the morning...

Spoilers: Season 5 but only if you squint.

Author's Note: Written for CITRON_PRESSE as part of the alphabet meme over at LJ...

* * *

Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and all the characters, settings, and events thereof, are properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for profit, it constitutes fair use. Referral to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

* * *

Mark has heard rumours of alcohol fueled benders, of bar fights picked with random strangers capable of inflicting maximum damage with minimum provocation, of hangovers and nightmares and sullen, unrelenting silence. But rumours are one thing, scientific, photographic evidence is something else entirely and he is finding it harder and harder not to care.

The left cheekbone is definitely fractured, as is the corresponding eye socket. The jaw is thankfully still intact and the nose isn't broken, this time. There are numerous cuts that will require suturing and a scalp laceration that is bleeding profusely, staining previously white gauze pads a dark black-red. Mark runs his hands over his face and presses his palms deep into his own eye sockets in an attempt to block out everything that isn't helping him make a decision about what to do next.

He shudders slightly at the thought of what the girls may have woken to had he not made the early hours of the morning decision to sneak in and wrap himself around Lexie's sleeping form. He'd not even made it past the front door.

He leaves the x-ray where it is, lit up like some macabre wall hanging, in the hope that Alex will see it and react. Anger, horror, fear, at this point Mark really doesn't care, anything will be better than the wide eyed stare and complete silence he's received so far.

He pulls a chair up beside where he has stealthily stationed Alex on a gurney in the otherwise deserted clinic. He is concussed, severely, and has no business even being conscious, but he is and Mark is planning to keep it that way.

"Karev?"

It's not the first time he's tried this tactic, and like all previous attempts he is studiously ignored. He sighs and turns his wrist, peers bleakly at the hands of his watch as they mockingly display the time, 2.27am.

"He never really meant to hurt her, you know? I get that now."

At the sound of Alex's words Mark looks up and finds him staring intently back at him, as if expecting a response; Mark has no idea what he is talking about.

"Ah, no. I guess not," he supplies anyway and it must be at least semi appropriate because Alex simply nods and screws his face up in a ghost of a grimace that is not even vaguely congruent with the amount of pain he should actually be in.

"M'shoulder feels like crap."

"I'm not surprised, it's about two inches lower than it should be. Doctor Torres is on her way, hopefully she can help me get it back where it's supposed to be and you cleaned up before someone figures out that we're not meant to be in here."

There is a shaky pause as Alex seems to process what Mark has just told him... or not.

"M'glad she wasn't pregnant. Don't think I would've made a very good Dad..."

Alex is back to staring at him and the conversational tone he has adopted is unnerving Mark more than the eerie silence that preceeded it ever could.

"D'you think he broke m'nose?"

"Nope, I know he didn't, but unfortunately I can't say the same for the rest of your face."

"Oh... well, s'pose it doesn't matter. S'not the first time."

"Yeah, so I can see from the x-rays. What'd you use to do? Catch footballs with your face?"

"Guess I just walked into a'lotta doors when I was a kid..." Alex shrugs, a one shouldered, lopsided movement that should be excruciating; he doesn't even flinch, "...doesn't really matter anyway, Izzie 'n I can make a baby... if we want. The Chief made us make a frozen baby, like peas... or popsicles."

Alex's incoherant rambling is starting to make Mark nauseated. He feels like an intruder, like he's eavesdropping on Alex's most private thoughts and he's desperately trying to drag up any remnants of memory he has from compulsory mental health classes he took during medical school. He knows there was something about empathy and apparently sleeping with your clients is a big ethical no no in psychology too... but other than that he is drawing a terrifying blank.

"She's not coming back, is she?"

Mark sighs, a mixture of exhaustion and an overwhelming realisation that he is currently _way_ out of his depth. All he wanted was to wake up next to his girlfriend in the morning, he did not expect this, he is not _prepared_ for this, for Alex Karev, of all people, to be unintentionally revealing his deepest, darkest secrets. He's not even supposed to like the guy.

"No..." Mark sighs and closes his eyes briefly, starts to pray that Callie will arrive any moment now to rescue him from this, to think he should've woken Meredith and made her deal with the broken and bloodied body he'd found on her doorstep, to wish he'd never gotten out of bed in the first place, to realise that maybe this is what he gets for betraying his best friend more times than he can count, "...no, she's not..."


	2. K is for Keys

**Title: K is for Keys...**

Word Count: 750

Rating: PG

Characters/Pairing: Meredith and Alex.

Summary: She needs it locked, he needs it unlocked.

Author's Note: Written for BLACKBERRY06 as part of the alphabet meme... prompts still available if you are interested...

Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and all the characters, settings, and events thereof, are properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for profit, it constitutes fair use. Referral to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

* * *

It's not until the third morning in a row, when the front door is unlocked as she goes to leave the house that Meredith really notices, and she only guesses, looking back now, that it's three mornings in a row because she can't remember any further back than that. Their neighbourhood isn't quite smack bang in the middle of the crime capital of Seattle but it's not exactly a gated community either, and she's been religiously locking that front door every night for the past God knows how many years, including last night, she remembers it clearly. There is little about yesterday in general that she remembers but the securing of the lock and the switching off of the outside light and the feel of tequila on her lips and at the back of her throat, that much she remembers with clarity.

But she's going to be late if she doesn't hurry so she doesn't have time to consider it further right now, the fact that she buried one of her best friends just two days ago, the fact that she had to choose funeral flowers and wear a black dress and black sunglasses and black shoes and carry Kleenex around in a black bag, the fact that she had to do all of that isn't going to carry enough weight to be a legitimate excuse right now because it applies to more people than just her. She was not the only one wearing a black dress two days ago.

She pulls the door closed behind her and takes comfort in the secure click of the lock sliding into place. There are many precious things behind that door, infinitely more than can be seen with a quick glance at stereo systems and computer screens. There's the muffin tins in the kitchen drawer that are over twenty years old but were only used for the first time for actual baking just over a year ago. Then there's a bottle of bright purple shampoo in the bathroom, apparently designed to brighten even the blondest hair, and a green coat on the rack by the door, worn and missing one button, a slight tear in the lining where Doc decided once to use it as a chew toy. A locked door will keep those things in, Meredith is counting on that.

* * *

Alex waits impatiently for Meredith to leave. He's not due back at the hospital for another week, apparently husbands get bereavement leave or compassionate leave or some other such crap. He doesn't even know what those words mean, not properly anyway. He cynically thinks that the fact he's only been given a week is in direct relation to the fact that he was only married for less than a month, three weeks and two days to be exact. Like, maybe if he'd been married to her for longer he'd need more time to get over her or something but it was only three weeks and, in reality, he guesses one week for three weeks is a pretty decent deal.

His suit is still crumpled in the corner of the room where he threw it two days ago, the pants are grass stained at the knees and his tie is missing altogether and he has elaborate plans to burn what is left of it, if only he can find the energy. He is shaky on the stairs, light headed and nauseaus and he knows it's because tequila and lime are not a balanced diet, which is why last night he tried bourbon instead. There are flowers on just about every available surface of the lower floor of the house and he honestly has no idea what the motivation behind them is.

By the time he's at the front door he is having trouble focusing and he panics when he realises that it's locked from the inside too. He fumbles for the keychain hanging by the door, can barely get his hands to still long enough to work the worn metal into the lock with adequate force. When he finally feels the movement and the handle suddenly releases in his white knucked grip he pulls the door open with a rush of cold air and sinks to his knees to breathe. He knows Izzie's keys are still tucked safely away in the side pocket of her purse and her purse is upstairs in her room. He needs the door to be unlocked in case she decides to come back. She doesn't have her keys with her and if she decides to come back Alex needs to know that she can always get in.


	3. C is for Coffee

Title: C is for Coffee...

Word Count: 1470

Rating: PG

Characters/Pairing: Meredith/Derek

Summary: An evolution in a coffee cup...

Author's Note: Written for _TAKEMEAWAY_ as part of the alphabet meme... also, please note that this is the very first time EVER that I have written a Mer/Der... I'm a little nervous but also kinda excited!

Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and all the characters, settings, and events thereof, are properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for profit, it constitutes fair use. Referral to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

* * *

"_Dr. Shepherd."_

Their first attempt at a relationship, based on lies and sex and too much tequila, is like a Black Russian, one part Kahlua, two parts vodka, all parts alcohol. Something really bad for you disguised as something that tastes really, _really_ good.

"_Dr. Shepherd? This morning it was Derek. Now, it's Doctor Shepherd?"_

When Derek first sees her, sitting alone at the bar at Joe's, he's not looking for a relationship, he's still running from the disaster that was the end of his marriage, from an ex-wife and an ex-best friend that he wants nothing more than to forget, but can't.

"_Doctor Shepherd, we should pretend it never happened."_

Meredith's first impression is all about the hair, and the swagger, and the unnatural confidence that, looking back, just screamed _surgeon_ like a neon advertising billboard. She should have known then, from the hair and the swagger and the unnatural confidence, not to mention her propensity for sleeping with inappropriate men, that this was a one night stand that would not end well.

"_What never happened, you sleeping with me last night? Or you throwing me out this morning? Because both are fond memories I'd like to hold onto."_

_

* * *

  
_

"_What does this mean?"_

Their second attempt is even worse, it's prom night and it's betrayal, it's jealousy and it's a raw lust that infiltrates your every conscious thought.

"_Uh, I had panties on. Black. Do you see them?"_

It's an espresso shot at eight in the morning, when the caffeine hits before you're really ready for it, before you've given yourself enough time to properly wake up and prepare yourself for the consequences. Your brain is still asleep, it's still in the before, when things were simple, uncomplicated, but your body is ready, it's alive, it's craving action, and things are rarely simple and uncomplicated for long.

"_Meredith, what does this mean?"_

Meredith can't even remember how it happened. One minute she's dancing with Finn, the next minute she's missing her underwear and her friend's fiance is dead and she's back to being the dirty mistress with no morals and no dignity and no self control.

"_Help me look for them. And fix your tie."_

Derek knows that before was not his fault. He and Addison had broken up, she had made choices that ended with her sleeping with Mark and, in turn, he had made his own choices, to leave New York, to move to Seattle, to start a new life that no longer included her. This time though, this time it is definitely his fault.

"_Meredith, what does this mean?"_

* * *

"_I don't know. It's just that...that day...you came out of the water..."_

When Derek carries Meredith from the water, blue from the cold and the lack of oxygen and the absence of a heart beat, something shifts. He feels it, a physical movement that alters his equilibrium, sets everything inside him on a different course. The well worn path they have been treading disappears suddenly, replaced by an overgrown mess that will become almost impossible to traverse.

"_I spent the scariest hour of my life trying to breathe for you. I love you and I want you but I don't know what to...you didn't swim_..."

They're breaking each other, little by little, piece by piece, and they should stop but they can't. It's like vending machine coffee, too acidic, too hot, too cold, too everything. It burns your lips and the tip of your tongue and it scalds a blazing path to your stomach with every mouthful that you take. You tell yourself that this is the last time, that you'll remember how much it hurt, how unsatisfying it was, but you don't. You come back and you try again because you manage to convince yourself that this time, maybe, it will taste just that little bit better.

"_You didn't swim and you know how to...and I don't know if I can..."_

Derek is used to people expecting things from him. He is used to being relied upon. He holds people's lives in his hands, quite literally, every day, he is comfortable in that knowledge, at ease with it. What he does not understand is why Meredith won't let him hold _her_.

"_I don't know if I wanna...keep trying to breathe for you._"

Meredith doesn't rely on other people, she has never been dependent or needy, not even as a child. She is comfortable enough in her own skin to the point that if she has to get up and walk away she can do so with a minimum of fuss. Some would say it's a coping mechanism, Meredith just chalks it up to experiences passed and a knowledge that if you don't expect too much then you are rarely disappointed.

"_I should go. I'll go." _

* * *

"_I'm still mad at you and I don't know if I trust you, I wanna trust you, but I don't know if I do. So I'm just gonna try, I'm gonna try and trust you. Because I believe that we can be extraordinary together. rather than ordinary apart and I wanna be..."  
_

Typically, Meredith doesn't believe in grand gestures. She finds them trite and manipulative and more often than not, embarrassing, and up until the moment that Derek finally arrives, she feels like all her suspicions have been confirmed.

"_I have to go."_

But then, suddenly, he's there and it's like a milky white cappuccino when it's snowing outside and your breath clouds as you exhale and your hands are pink from the cold and the feel of them wrapped around the thick mug is almost better than the drink itself.

"_What?"_

Right now, in this moment, Derek thinks he has waited his whole life for this. And while he is confused somewhat and has to clamp down on the overwhelming urge to ask Meredith if she is feeling alright, he is also speechless and dumbfounded and about fifty other adjectives that he has never experienced in this context before.

_  
"In order to kiss you the way I wanna kiss you and in order to do more than kiss you, I need to speak with Rose. I want my conscience clear so I can do more than kiss you..."_

Meredith gets her absolution, she gets her moment, she gets her future. It's a beginning, another one and they've already had more than their fair share, but this time there will be no deceit, this time there will be no hidden surprises and this time, _this_ _time_, she will allow herself to dream.

" _Stay here, don't move, wait for me." _

* * *

"_If there's a crisis, you don't freeze, you move forward. You get the rest of us to move forward..."_

It's taken him a long time, perhaps, some would say, it's taken him _too_ long, but Derek gets it now. He knows what comes next, it's clear and it's right. It's like fair trade coffee, organic and proactive and when you drink it you know you've done something good. It doesn't really taste all that much different to before. It's still coffee, it still smells like coffee and the caffeine hit is still as powerful, but there's something else there, something underneath all the recycled labeling and advertising campaigns designed to make you think twice, that seems more pure than you could possibly imagine.

"_Because you've seen worse. You've survived worse, and you know we'll survive too. You say you're all dark and twisty. It's not a flaw, it's a strength. It makes you who you are..."_

Derek has done this before, proposed. He asked permission and was given it, albeit somewhat reluctantly, he wore his only suit and got down on one knee and rattled off a pre-written speech about love and respect and absolute devotion. He knows doing all that stuff is traditional, it's expected. It still doesn't give you any guarantees. It still doesn't mean your wife won't sleep with your best friend ten years down the track.

"_I'm not gonna get down on one knee, I'm not gonna ask a question..."_

But Meredith is not traditional, she does not mold to stereotypes of what women want and how they behave, so he doesn't fall at her feet and there is no one to ask permission from anyway.

"_I love you Meredith Grey, and I wanna spend the rest of my life with you."_

Meredith can honestly admit that she has never pictured herself as a bride. She's never looked at photos of impossibly beautiful women in impossibly white dresses and thought that she would like to do that some day. The thought of forever was always a terrifying prospect. But now there is a ring, and while she doesn't exactly have it on her finger, she does have it, and suddenly, the idea of forever is exhilirating.

_"And I wanna spend the rest of my life with you."_


	4. M is for Marine

**Title:** M is for Marine...

**Word Count: **1800 (God, these _were_ meant to be drabbles!!!)

**Rating: **M for one implied sex scene.

**Characters/Pairing:** Alex mostly, with a little Bailey thrown in at the end (implied Alex/Izzie).

**Summary:** In the end he chooses the Marines but ask him why and he can't give you an articulate response.

**Spoilers: **None really since it is an AU based on the obscure prompt provided!!!

**Author's Note:** Written for ICEWHISPER and I want to say a huge thank you for such a random prompt that really got me thinking...

**Disclaimer:** All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and all the characters, settings, and events thereof, are properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for profit, it constitutes fair use. Referral to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

* * *

_Gravedigger, _

_when you dig my grave,_

_could you make it shallow_

_so that I can feel the rain._

_- Gravedigger, Dave Matthews Band_

When they said goodbye it wasn't so much 'farewell' as it was 'I love you', and in the falsely bright light of her hospital room he let his fingers loosen and fall away. It was only later, and with the benefit of hindsight, that he realised it really should have been farewell because she never did come back.

He tried for three months after that but he knew and, he's fairly certain, so did everyone else, that it was only a matter of time. A matter of how. A matter of where.

In the end he chooses the Marines but ask him why and he can't give you an articulate response. He'll mumble something about their reputation, about their level of respect in the community but you know that it's a load of rehearsed crap because he never cared about those things in the before so he sure as hell isn't likely to care about them in the after. He doesn't tell anyone that he is leaving but it doesn't matter, they all know it anyway.

Seattle holds nothing for him in the after.

* * *

He makes a good soldier, takes orders well and is always one of the first to volunteer for the most dangerous of missions. He doesn't insist on working as a surgeon but falls into it on occasion anyway, almost by default and whilst nothing he had been taught in the past could properly prepare him for what he must deal with now he figures that in the end it is all the same thing, it's only the scale that changes.

He gains respect but no friends, he is reliable and fair and always looking out for someone else. His aim is steady, his eye is sure, he saves their lives and he is faster and fitter than the rest of them. But still, they talk.

They talk because he so very rarely does.

_He is an enigma._

_He is too eager._

_He has a death wish._

And they are whispers but they are still the truth.

And in his pocket is a photo that he no longer looks at, of a person he can no longer think about, from a time he will no longer speak of. They know he was a surgeon, that much they have guessed. They know nothing else and sometimes it is like being back there all over again, in a time and a place where nobody knows you and you can be whomever you want to be, but in the end you always wind up the same anyway.

And so they talk.

_How long will he stay?_

_How long til he gets himself killed?_

_How long before he eats his own gun?_

Truth in whispers, wind carried with the dust over arid battlegrounds.

* * *

At the completion of his first deployment he is given two weeks leave. And he could go to Iowa and he could go to Seattle but he doesn't go to either. They are ghost filled memories and he has systematically and deliberately used exhaustion and adrenalin to erase them.

Instead he buys a motorbike from the wreck filled front yard of a house in Philly. The mis-spelled sign indicates the engine is in good condition and underneath a series of prices, progressively crossed out, advertise the current going rate at $600.00. He doesn't bother to haggle.

When he turns the key he thinks they were probably right about the engine, but he knows infinitely more about the mechanics of the human body than he does about motorbikes so he can't be completely sure.

He heads north for no other reason than he doesn't feel like going south and he drives til he can no longer understand the road signs and the speed limit seems dangerously high. The bike thrums rhythmically between his legs and from inside the sweaty confines of his battered helmet he watches as Quebec materialises.

He finds a bar on the first night, crowded and oppressive in the late July heat. The bartender greets him in a language he doesn't care to understand and he orders a beer in English, leaves the change on the bar as an unspoken apology. There is loud conversation everywhere and he is somewhat comforted by the fact that he can decipher none of it, lets it swell in his ears until it drowns out the repetitive commentary in his own head.

He ends up in bed with a nameless female, and as he twists his fingers through her long blonde curls he has to shut his eyes and think of sand and of gunfire and of air raid sirens to quell the panic that rises in the back of his throat. He falls asleep when the sky begins to brighten and the dark shadows of night fall away and when he wakes, still naked and smelling of sex, the nameless blonde is long gone.

* * *

There is little surprise when he ships out for the fourth time. The adrenalin rush isn't as intense, the fear is non-existent. It is familiar to him now and he knows, one way or another, that this time will be the last time.

He is going through the motions and it is a dangerous pass-time. He knows this. He relishes this. He is still nothing less than professional, he is still nothing less than the soldier he has been trained to be. But there is an edge to his actions, an arrogant indifference, and he counts down the days while the talk continues to follow him.

_He is too cavalier._

_He is too unaffected._

_He is too calm._

In the end they can see it coming and they send him home early. He knows they won't call on him again and as he tenders his resignation he can hear their collective sigh of relief.

He buys another motorbike, as has become his custom. This time it's in Sacramento and this time he wonders if the engine will last two hours let alone two weeks. He heads north because he always heads north and because it's been too long and not nearly long enough at the same time.

Seattle hits him like a physical blow that blurs his vision and steals his breath. A weight settles on his chest and suddenly it's like he never even left the place. It is still wet and the ferry boats still clog the Sound and it's been eight years but it still hasn't been enough.

The closer he gets to the hospital the faster he pushes, zigzagging other drivers, jumping traffic lights and letting the bike skid and stumble beneath him. By the time he arrives his legs are jelly-like and as he stands for the first time in hours his knees threaten to send him crashing to the puddles at his feet.

He doesn't even know if any of them are still there, but suddenly that seems irrelevant, unimportant. They _were_ there and for now, that is all that matters. The clinic has been renamed and the words scream at him, tangible proof of what he has tried so hard to forget, and for a moment he must fight the urge to clamp his hands over his ears and scream back at them.

As he approaches the entry to the emergency department the doors open and five gowned interns scramble out, shoving and laughing and staking their claim for the myriad of inbound injuries. He stares at them, unblinking, until they catch him and send questioning glances in his direction. One starts towards him, mouth open, speaking, but he just raises a hand and backs away.

He sits on a bench near the main entrance and waits in the soft rain for the daylight to melt away and it is under this cover of semi darkness that he finds a familiar face. He stands so he is blocking her path but her head is down as she fiddles with the buttons on her coat so she doesn't see him at first. He holds his breath and wonders if she will even recognise him if she does look up but he knows that _he_ would recognise _her_ anywhere so... probably.

As she looks up he tries out a smile but the muscles protest, stiff from the cold and lack of use, so he gives up. She won't be expecting him to smile anyway. She freezes then, mid-step, eyes wide, hand to her mouth. He can see the green scarf wrapped around her neck and he longs suddenly to touch it, to let his fingers trail over the rough wool, to find solace in the memory of its creator. She is still motionless and staring but her eyes have changed and they always were her give away. She is angry with him, furious even. He'd been expecting that.

She blinks and he can see that she is crying. He definitely hadn't been expecting that. She rushes at him and for a second he flinches, sure that she is going to slap him, but she wraps her arms around his waist and buries her face in his chest and for the first time in eight years he is crying too. He doesn't know how long they stand there, seconds, minutes maybe, but when she releases him and steps back he can see that a small crowd of even more familiar faces has gathered.

Time has changed them all, hair is shorter and streaked with grey, there are wedding bands that previously didn't exist and some of them are missing altogether, moved on to bigger things, to better things. But most of them still remain and he wonders if, like him, they are all drawn to be there by the presence of someone who no longer is.


	5. F is for Friendship

Title: F is for Friendship...

Word Count: 1280

Rating: PG

Characters/Pairing: Meredith and Alex (implied Alex/Izzie)

Summary: A request for a promise...

Author's Note: Written for DARKANDTWISTY02 as part of the alphabet meme... prompts still available if you are interested...

Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and all the characters, settings, and events thereof, are properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for profit, it constitutes fair use. Referral to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

* * *

Meredith isn't sure where the thought comes from, it is sudden and somewhat shocking and all she knows is that she has to do something about it right away. Her patient is still speaking to her, Meredith can see her lips moving even if she can no longer hear the words over the rushing of blood in her own ears.

She manages to mumble out an apology, breathless suddenly as the temperature in the patient's room seems to drop by degrees.

"Are you okay?"

Meredith's forehead creases into a confused frown as the sound registers, once again loud and clear.

"What? Oh. Yes... yes, I'm fine."

She offers an overly bright smile and winces as the patient's shock registers in a wide eyed flinch. She draws in a ragged breath, removes the grin and slides her shaking hands into the low pockets of her lab coat.

"I'm sorry. Everything's fine. I just remembered something that I really need to do. I'll be back to check on your before your surgery, okay?"

The patient nods, a little too quickly and a little too enthusiastically but Meredith turns to leave anyway. She needs to do this before she forgets, before it's too late.

* * *

"Have you seen Alex?"

Cristina looks up with a start at the sharp bark of Meredith's question. The chart she is completing momentarily forgotten as Meredith barely stops to wait for a reply.

"Um, no. Not for a while anyway. Why?"

Meredith, metres away by now, raises a hand in dismissal and turns on her heel.

"Can't explain now, I'll talk to you later."

* * *

As she rounds the corner to the ward where Izzie is currently admitted she catches sight of him, bent low over a file at the nurse's station.

"Alex, thank God, there you are."

She motions him to follow her as she breathlessly pushes out into a deserted hallway, the swinging door closing with a rush of air behind them.

"Where else would I be?"

Meredith ignores his quizzical expression, she's fast becoming used to frowns being directed her way, and instead resists the urge to grab his sleeve.

"Alex, I need you to promise me you won't do anything stupid."

"What?"

His frown deepens but Meredith is on a roll, she needs to say this before it all comes crashing down around them, which it's going to, she is terrifyingly sure of that.

"If things don't work out you can't do anything stupid. I need you to promise me, Alex. I need to hear you say the words, to say that you promise. You need to _promise_ me that you won't do anything stupid."

There is pleading in her voice, desperate and only just this side of crazed and Alex still has no idea what she is talking about.

"What the hell, Grey? Are you high?"

"Alex, I'm being serious..." and dammit, this _is_ serious and she needs him to listen to her, she needs him to promise, "... If things with Izzie... if she... if..."

She can't bring herself to say the words, they have unspoken rules about saying the words, it has never been discussed specifically but they know it intrinsically, all of them. No one actually says the words.

"Alex...?"

Her eyes are bright and her hands are twisted in the front of his sweater and even though she doesn't say the words, Alex knows exactly what she means.

"Promise me? Please...Alex?"

He moves, suddenly, forcefully and feels his insides come to a grinding halt. She takes her hands back and stares at them for a moment, as though unsure what to do with them, before wrapping them around her sides.

"_Nothing's_ gonna happen."

His voice is cold. His eyes are black.

"Alex..." she barely whispers, back to desperation and pleading.

"No." He turns side on, refuses to meet her stare.

"No. Nothing is gonna happen to her. I'm not promising you anything."

Meredith feels everything inside her sink a little at his tone and his words and they way he will no longer look at her. This is coming out all wrong. This is not how she meant to do this. She wants to start it all again but she can't, it's too late for that now and so she pushes ahead.

"I know, okay? I know it's not..." she's lying and he knows it and it takes every scrap of self control he has not to punch the wall behind her.

"But Alex, if it does... will you please just..."

"I'm not _promising_ you anything."

He turns to glare at her, angry beyond belief and he can see her visibly finch away but he's not sorry, this is her fault. His heart is hammering in his chest suddenly, so loud and so hard he's almost certain she can hear it.

"Do you have any clue what you're asking me to do? Any clue at all?"

Meredith opens her mouth, to breathe, to answer, Alex has no idea. He continues before she can cut him off.

"If I promise you that, if I say what you want me to say... I might as well give up right now. _She_ might as well give up right now."

"No, Alex...no. That's not what I..."

"Isn't it? So you don't already think she gonna die?"

His words startle both of them and Meredith has to blink back tears as Alex balls his fists and visibly struggles to regain his composure.

"Alex."

She says his name and it sounds like an apology.

It feels like fingernails down a blackboard.

He turns and walks away and Meredith takes a deep breath to steel herself for what she needs to do. She has come this far, she will finish this now.

"Alex. Wait."

He stops but keeps his back turned, she can see his shoulders heaving as he stands, statue still and waiting just like she's asked.

"Don't go like this. This is not what I wanted. Look at me, please?"

Her vision blurs slightly and she can feel the wet hot sting of tears on her cheeks and as he turns to face her again she can see he is crying too. There is some distance between them, physical and emotional and Meredith straightens her arms out to her sides, surrendering.

"We're more alike than either of us will ever admit, we both know that, Alex. We both know it. _That's_ why I need you to promise... I need you to know that whatever happens next we'll still be friends. Whatever you need. I mean that... anything. Because if it does happen and I really do mean _if_... but if it does, you're gonna hate me. You're gonna hate everyone. But most of all, you're gonna hate yourself. And you're gonna be mean and spiteful and say horrible things that you can never take back and you'll probably drink too much tequila and grow crazy, long facial hair and maybe you'll even disappear for a while to a trailer in the woods... but no matter what happens, Alex... I need you to know that my bathroom floor will be ready and waiting, I need you to know that we'll still be friends."

She takes a deep, jagged breath as her monologue comes to an end and as she searches for a reaction she can see him crumble in front of her. His anger visibly drains and he is left looking exhausted and scared and unimaginably sad.

"Promise _me_..."

Alex's voice, whisper quite and begging, wavers slightly and Meredith takes a step towards him but his hands raise and his head snaps up and she stops, waits.

"Promise _me_ she'll be okay and none of this will matter..."


	6. E is for Eggs

**Title:** E is for Eggs...

**Word Count: **1000

**Rating:** PG

**Characters:** Lexie and George

**Summary:** Of breathing tubes and bedtime stories...

**Author's Note:** Written for tonysgirl02 as part of the alphabet meme over at LJ...

**Disclaimer:** All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and all the characters, settings, and events thereof, are properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for profit, it constitutes fair use. Referral to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

* * *

_Do you like _

_green eggs and ham?_

_I do not like them_

_Sam-I-am._

_I do not like _

_green eggs and ham._

It is by some unspoken agreement that Lexie finds herself sliding an all too familiar key into a lock, worn stiff and achingly unchanged, at three am on a Thursday morning.

(though, truth be told, she'd have it no other way)

The door creaks open in protest, as though months have passed since it opened last, and maybe they have but Lexie doesn't think so. There are dishes discarded by the sink and a scarf draped casually over a kitchen chair, the curtains are open and slightly askew but, as a whole, the place is clean, really clean. Much cleaner than when she was more than just a visitor, tears and ruined mascara hidden under the cover of a moonlit night. Evidence of her still lingers, like cigarette smoke, a scent that won't wash out, and of that she is secretly glad.

She hasn't a clue what she is looking for specifically, guided only by a feeling that she will know it when she finds it. Toiletries and pyjamas are still an unecessary cliché and will remain that way for some weeks to come.

_I would not like them_

_here or there._

_I would not like them_

_anywhere._

_I do not like _

_green eggs and ham._

_I do not like them,_

_Sam-I-am._

The hospital has become an unbearably grim place to be. Whether on shift or not no one is gone, like they all think leaving will tear apart the precarious sense of balance and order that has evolved in the wake of that terrible, horrible, blood curdling, bone chilling day. Lexie is so much a part of it and so completely and utterly _not_ at the same time that she feels constantly on the edge of a window shattering scream. Like it is coiled within her and one wrong move or one wrong word and she'll fall apart at the seams. She'll finally rip and crumble and _dissolve._

(like everyone else already has)

When your friend's chests only rise because machines do it for them, when orders not to resuscitate are ignored and bus drivers fail to notice and when everyone else breathes in time with the monotonous beeps, it doesn't take much for the fibers to tear.

_You may like them._

_You will see._

_You may like them _

_in a tree._

_I would not, could not_

_in a tree._

_Not in a car._

_You let me be._

She finds the book in a cardboard box of items that have been shuffled from house to house but never unpacked. It is worn and a page is missing, the last, which is kind of ironic since she's never read it before and therefore doesn't know how it ends. It is a hardcover copy, the first page inscibed, cursive writing, large and deliberate, as though written for a child to decipher, faded to a yellow, testimony to the years that have passed by.

(exactly what she is looking for)

She leaves everything else abandoned on the bed. Photographs of people, some she knows, some she doesn't, some black and white, some faded sepia, some bright technicolour. All of them memories.

_A train, a train._

_A train, a train._

_Could you, would you_

_on a train?_

George breathes by himself two weeks and three days later and so, it seems, does almost everyone else. The air changes in that moment, when the tubes are removed and the machines stay silent and the earth shifts beneath their feet. She isn't in the room when it happens but she has her face pressed to the glass, watching through a film of salt water and steaming breath. The room is full and hands are clenched, white knuckle tight. He isn't awake just yet but he is one step closer.

(though it is to be alex that shatters the windows with a scream)

And so it is bittersweet, all things considered, as she begins to contemplate heading back to the apartment to collect up the memories she has left scattered, discarded, _forgotten._

_Not on a train, _

_not in a tree._

_Not in a car,_

_Sam, let me be._

Despite the photographic recall she likes to read the words aloud from each page. Turning them triumphantly, like a pre-school teacher lost in the moment. Under different circumstances she's sure she'd have been stopped by now, told it was abnormal, unhealthy, more than a lot crazy, but this isn't those circumstances and she remains the least crazy of them all. She can't remember the last time an actual sentence, meaningful words strung together with coherance and precision, has been directed her way.

(but she's not crazy, even though she probably is, and she doesn't care)

She reads until the musty smell of the aged pages seeps into the tips of her fingers, until she is intimately familiar with every cartoonish illustration and every mind numbingly repetitive rhyme.

_Say!_

_I like green eggs and ham._

_I do. I like them, Sam-I-am._

_And I would eat them in a boat._

_And I would eat them with a goat..._

And as she gets to the end she pauses, like she always does, while the words echo and her vision blurs momentarily.

(like it always does)

"_I do so like green eggs and ham..._"

And suddenly she is standing on numb feet, light headed, giddy.

"George? Did you... George?"

"_Thank you._"

"Oh God, George?"

"_Thank you... Sam-I-am._"

Lexie is grinning, madly, wildly, enough to make her teeth hurt. Her hands are hovering somewhere over the call button but she is hesitant to break the spell, to summons the troops, to signal the end and the beginning and the beginning of the end.

"What did you say?"

She is breathless, high, laughing. There is salt drying on her lips and stinging her tongue.

"It's the last page... you never get to the last page..."

And she realises, with a rush of relief that almost sends her to her knees, that this... _this_ is how it ends.

* * *

AN: Quotes source.

Giesel, T.S. & Giesel, A.S. (1960). _Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss_. New York: Beginner Books Inc.


	7. O is for Oceanside

**Title:** O is for Oceanside...

**Word Count: **2050

**Rating:** PG

**Characters:** Alex and Addison (guest starring Callie with mentions of Izzie and Meredith)

**Summary:** "She looks up to find him standing at the entrance and she flashes him a quick smile as she allows herself five seconds to remember why she found herself, sans panties, in an on call room with him once."

**Author's Note:** Written as part of the alphabet meme that I am VERY slowly crawling my way through.

**Disclaimer:** All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and all the characters, settings, and events thereof, are properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for profit, it constitutes fair use. Referral to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

* * *

The tapping on her door is odd. For one, it's late and she's not expecting any visitors, and two, it begins with a certain determination that morphs mid-rhythm to something a little more hesitant and timid. Addison takes a sip of the South African red she has just poured herself before standing, puzzled and curious and, if she's truthful, just a little nervous.

She has a peep hole in her front door, a fish eye one that makes the person on the other side look smaller and further away than she knows they really are. Movie scenes flash in her mind and she can't bring herself to take a look, convinced by now that an axe wielding murderer with no teeth and only four fingers is standing on the other side, waiting for her to open the door so he can rape and pillage her before feeding her flesh to his dogs, because they always have dogs... don't they?

"Hello?"

She says the word as a question, tries to mask her building panic as she thumbs her cell phone, ready to scream for help.

The voice that replies is so far from what she's expecting it's almost more shocking and _definitely_ more unbelievable than the idea that an axe wielding man had come to chop her up into pet food.

"Addison? It's Alex... uh... Karev... Alex Karev from Seattle Grace..."

She opens the door with a flourish only to have it snap back with a metallic slam as the saftey chain that she'd forgotten to remove does it's job with stunning proficiency.

"Crap."

There is nervous laughter from the other side, a semi giggle and she wonders if perhaps he's drunk. She sets her wineglass down on the table at the entrance, still covered in ignored junkmail and unopened letters from where she'd walked past it with barely a glance as she came home a few hours ago.

"Sorry about that... Alex Karev from Seattle Grace..." she mimics, trying to mask some of the absolute confusion she is feeling with a little lighthearted levity.

"Um... hi?" he smiles, and she notes that his eyes are kind of glazed, but more in an _I haven't slept for weeks _way than an _I'm so drunk I'm about to fall on my face_ way.

"Alex... um, come in... I guess..." She steps back by way of invitation but he hesitates and remains where he is.

"I'm sorry, it's late... I don't know why I'm even here... I was just... driving past and I thought I'd... stop, make sure you hadn't dyed your hair blonde and bought a surfboard or a yappy dog with a diamond collar..."

He is rambling and it's very un-Alex, about as un-Alex as anything she has ever experienced in the past and suddenly alarm bells are ringing, though, as yet, she has no idea why.

"Well, you are here so why don't you come in? I was just having a drink," she motions to her glass still on the side table before reaching across and picking it up again.

"Okay, sure... I mean, if you're sure, then... cool... whatever..."

He steps in and she closes the door behind him before wandering into the kitchen to pour him a glass while he shrugs out of his jacket and lays it atop the junkmail and unopened letters. She looks up to find him standing at the entrance and she flashes him a quick smile as she allows herself five seconds to remember why she found herself, _sans panties_, in an on call room with him once.

She motions for him to follow her into the lounge room and she settles back into the position she had been in before the tapping on her door had changed the course of her evening.

"So..." she starts as he sits stiffly on an arm chair opposite her, "... I have to know... what did you have to do to Mark to get him to tell you where I live?"

"Sloan? Why would I have to do anything to him?"

Alex looks genuinely stunned, forehead creasing in confusion as he slowly spins his wine glass around in his hands, yet to take a sip.

"Well, I just assumed he told you... otherwise... how else did you get my address?"

"Oh... ha... yeah. No..." Alex stutters, eyes firmly on the swirling red in his hands, '...Sloan didn't tell me..."

"Then how?" Now it's Addison's turn to be puzzled. She can't imagine Callie giving her address out and she's fairly sure Derek doesn't even know it...

"Well, I knew you worked at that surgical clinic place, Beachside or Bayside..."

"Oceanside," she corrects, still not following.

"Yeah, whatever. So... I knew you worked there so I went there, this afternoon. I got there just as you were leaving, I saw you get into your car which, by the way... what's with the car?"

"There's nothing wrong with my car."

"Not if you're into matchbox toys and mid life crisises there's not."

"Um, you're in the middle of telling me all about how you stalked me from my work back to my house if I remember correctly... not exactly time to be giving me crap about my mode of transportation."

Alex lifts his eyes sheepishly and connects with hers for the first time since he arrived. The effect is startling, and more than a little confusing.

"Okay, fine. Yes... I followed you back here, in a totally non-stalker-ish way though. I mean, I didn't even use binoculars."

Alex's attempt at a joke falls flat and Addison doesn't laugh.

"Alex, seriously? What are you doing here? No offence," Addison hurries to add, "it's great to see you but don't tell me you came all the way here to make sure I wasn't turning into a surfie bum..."

"I got married."

He announces this revelation without so much as a twitch, remains frozen in place, perched on the edge of her white leather armchair. Addison's eyes search out a ring automatically, seeking some kind of tangible proof. The thin band of silver around his ring finger stifles the disbelieving laugh that had built in her throat.

"Married?"

"Yeah... married. As in... bridesmaids and flowers and a church and a cake..."

"And a bride?"

"Yeah, and a bride..."

His voice trails off and Addison is shocked to find that every sentence out of his mouth since he arrived on her doorstep has only served to increase her confusion levels. She has question upon question building up inside of her and she has no idea which one to ask first.

"So... this bride, do I know her?"

He looks up with a tight grin, as though he's already guessed what she is thinking.

"Yeah, you know her, it's Izzie."

Addison releases a sigh of relief and covers up her momentary lapse with a large mouthful of wine.

"Thank God! I thought, for a moment there, that you were going to say Ava."

"No, not Rebecca," he corrects, shaking his head.

"So, you and Izzie, huh?"

He leans back into the chair a bit, relaxing somewhat, and smiles a slow genuine grin.

"Yeah, me and Izzie."

"So... where is she? You on your honeymoon or something?"

"Yeah, kind of. We went on a honeymoon, she's back in Seattle now... working... I just... took a coupl'a extra days..."

"So, what? You used those days to head down here, get some sun and give me the good news?"

"Yeah, something like that I guess..."

He's beginning to open up and Addison's vision keeps drawing down to the ring on his finger, he is conscious of it now, as is she, and his thumb works to fiddle it round and round and round...

"I still can't believe you stalked me all the way to my house to tell me you got married! There are phones you know, we do have them down here in LA, not to mention the Seattle Grace rumour train, in fact I'm surprised I didn't already know, I'll have to tell Callie that her reputation is on the line!"

Alex shrugs nonchalantly before taking a sip of his wine, Addison notes that it's his first and he downs almost half the glass in one mouthful. She still can't quite shake the feeling that she's not getting the whole story.

"So... tell me all about it? I bet she looked stunning. Do you have any photos?"

* * *

"_Addison?"_

"Callie, thank God you're still up..."

"_Addison, is everything okay? It's the middle of the night."_

"Yes, I know it's the middle of the night, but Callie Torres, you have a lot of answering to do!"

"_Answering? What kind of answering? Answering about what? If this is about 'paeds chick' then, I was totally going to tell you..."_

"You didn't tell me that Karev and Stevens were getting married! In an actual church with actual vows and..."

"_How do you know that Alex and Izzie are married? "_

"Because he told me himself after he freaky stalkered me from the clinic to my apartment tonight, that's why..."

"_Your apartment? He came to your apartment? When? Where is he now?"_

"Um, he's right here beside me while I'm gossiping about him on the phone to you, where do you think he is?"

"_Addison, where is he? Is he still there?"_

"Geez, Callie, don't get your knickers in a twist, that is assuming you are wearing any of course, but he's in the bathroom..."

"_Oh, thank God." _

There is muffled yelling in the background and it sounds like Callie covers the mouthpiece of her phone with her hand and Addison finds it impossible to make out what is being said before the line clears again and Callie's voice is back.

"_Is he okay?"_

"What do you mean is he okay? Callie, what the hell is going on?"

"_It's a long story, I don't really have time to tell you all of it now, so you'll just have to trust me..."_

"Torres, I swear to God..."

"_I need you to try and keep him there, don't let him leave, Meredith is on her way... I'll probably come with her. He did get married, him and Stevens, at the end of last month, but Izzie died, two days ago she died and Alex just took off, we haven't seen or heard from him since..."_

And the final piece of the puzzle falls devastatingly into place...

* * *

Alex walks back into the living room as Callie is winding up her soliloquy of instructions for Addison to follow for the next few hours. _Say this, don't say that... what ever you do, don't let him leave. _The phone is still to her ear and she knows she looks guilty as hell.

"Late night call, huh? I'm sorry I should go... you probably had plans..."

"No, Alex... wait, it's fine. I didn't... I mean, I don't... I don't have plans..."

"No, I really should go... like I said... it's late, and I should call Izzie anyway..."

"Alex?"

He is moving towards the door but half turns as she speaks his name, eyebrows raised like a question.

"Yeah?"

"Alex... that was Callie... on the phone, it was Callie... please don't leave..."

Addison holds her breath as his face drains and his thumb returns to toying with his wedding band. He doesn't look at her. He _won't_ look at her.

"She told you?"

"Yeah, Alex... she told me... and I'm so, so sorry..."

He sighs, deeply. Like a weight has just been lifted and he can finally breathe again. He shifts his eyes to hers, meets them momentarily and she has to force herself not to look away. The pain there is raw and unbridled and only just beginning.

"I'm sorry I lied to you... I just... I wanted it to be real for a few more days, a few more hours... a few more minutes... I just...wanted it to be real..."

Addison blinks and she can feel the tears she has been trying her damnedest to conceal betray her swiftly and silently.

"You know that train I told you about? The one with the light coming straight for me?"

Addison nods, unable to speak around the solid lump of utter sadness in her throat.

"Well... I think it finally arrived..."


	8. D is for Disaster

**Title:** D is for Disaster...

**Word Count:** 950

**Rating: **PG-13

**Characters/Pairing:** Lexie/Mark, Meredith

**Summary:** "I could be the stripper. If we're getting kicked out of the wedding over this then we can at least give them a good reason."

**Author's Note:** Written for LABIL as part of the alphabet meme...

**Disclaimer: **All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and all the characters, settings, and events thereof, are properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for profit, it constitutes fair use. Referral to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

* * *

_**THEN...**_

"Lexie! No, Lexie, look at me!"

Meredith is standing in the doorway, shoulders squared, hands on hips. Lexie is trying to appear engrossed in her slice of toast, nodding her head agreeably but desperately keeping her eyes averted. She knows, she just _knows_, that one look and Meredith will have her confessing all that she knows.

"Fine," Meredith sighs, defeated, grabbing her car keys from the where she had discarded them on the kitchen table the night before, preparing to leave for the hospital.

Lexie also sighs, relieved to be off the hook for a little while longer. She has just stuffed the last corner of toast crust into her mouth when Meredith reappears, and as the food turns to lead on her tongue, Meredith starts in on her again.

"Just promise me, _promise_ me, that Cristina hasn't hired a stripper."

It is all Lexie can do not to gag on the solidifying mass in her mouth as she tries valiantly to remain stoic and determined.

She nods slowly, promising Meredith that indeed Cristina has not hired a stripper for her batchelorette, desperately hoping that her silent head bob of affirmation will be enough to send Meredith on her way again.

"_Lexie_!" Meredith is almost shouting now, exasperation draining her patience, "use your words and _promise_ me that Cristina has not hired a stripper."

Lexie relents finally, swallowing harshly, completely unable to disobey her big sister.

"Fine, I promise you that Cristina has not hired a stripper for the party, happy?"

Meredith nods, seemingly convinced, "see that wasn't so hard now was it?"

Lexie just offers a tight smile and uncrosses the fingers she has hidden in her lap. After all, it wasn't a total lie. The stripper had been hired by Izzie.

_**NOW...**_

"... so I just _lied_ to her! I lied right to her _face_! She going to _kill_ me!"

Mark is struggling to get Lexie's scrub top over her head, muffling the sound of her voice as she continued her rant, though to be honest Mark isn't listening to a word she is saying. Her hands are untying his pants and her bra is already on the floor at their feet and, _God_, she is so sexy when she is worked up.

"Cristina made me pro-"

Mark attempts to cut off her verbal explosion by firmly planting his own lips over hers and pulling her down on top of him in the close confines of the on call room. She had paged him there to talk, to ask his advice, but as soon as she mentioned the wedding and the batchelorette party that had been planned for the coming weekend, Mark had quickly lost all interest.

"It's going to be a _disaster_, she's going to hate me."

Lexie wraps her arms around Mark's back and uses her momentum to flip him, taking the opportunity to continue her horrified stream of panic.

"Oh my God! What if she kicks me out? What if she kicks me _out_ of the wedding...? But then they'd have to kick you out too, because otherwise the bridal party would be lopsided and no one wants a lopsided bridal party, it messes up the photos... But maybe they _will_ kick you out too... and it'll all be my fault. She'll totally blame me, she'll say that the only reason I didn't tell her was because I was sleeping with you..."

"What? That doesn't even make any sense..."

"Yes it does, it makes perfect sense. She'll kick me out because I lied to her and then they'll kick you out because the photos will look weird and it'll all be because I'm sleeping with you and I wanted so desperately for the wedding to be perfect that I didn't even _try_ to stop Izzie when she was in the middle of googling strippers..."

"Izzie _googled_ strippers?"

"She asked me to be a bridesmaid! She didn't even know that I _existed_ a year ago, she wouldn't even _talk_ to me six months ago, and now I'm her bridesmaid, only now, I _won't_ be her bridesmaid because I promised her that Cristina hadn't hired a stripper."

"I could be the stripper. If we're getting kicked out of the wedding over this then we can at least give them a good reason."

"Mark! You are not helping!"

"And you, Little Grey, are thinking about this way too much. By the time the stripper arrives Meredith will have worked her way through... what? Conservative estimate... three quarters of a bottle of tequila? She won't be kicking you out of the wedding, she'll be too busy shoving dollar bills into some random guy's underwear."

"You're probably right... but what if-"

"No. There will be no what if..." Mark murmurs, breath hot and heavy in her ear, "... now just shut up and kiss me, I have surgery in half an hour..."


	9. J is for Jurassic Park

**Title:** J is for Jurassic Park

**Characters/Pairing: **The Fab Five (Alex, Izzie, Meredith, Cristina and George).

**Word Count: **750

**Summary: **The first night it is just the five of them again is unremarkable in so many ways.

**Rating:** PG

**Author's Note: **Written for _TAKEMEAWAY_ as part of the alphabet meme

**Disclaimer: **All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and all the characters, settings, and events thereof, are properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for profit, it constitutes fair use. Referral to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

* * *

The first night it is just the five of them again is unremarkable in so many ways. They eat vegetarian lasagne, home cooked by someone that isn't any of them and drink diet coke from cracked tumblers with ice blocks in the shape of triangles. _Jurassic Park_, the first one, is the featured movie on the murmuring television and even that is unremarkable. They've all seen it before, some of them (George) more than once and, yeah, it was probably a decent flick in its day but now, now it's just dodgy acting and even dodgier special effects and they pretend to be interested for about thirteen and a half minutes.

It is Izzie who starts and, to be honest, when _wasn't_ it her?

She giggles, under her breath at first, eyes clenched closed and hand over mouth, until she can't control it a moment longer and sprays coke through her fingers.

Cristina has stopped mid chew and is staring at her curiously, like maybe her head is about to explode because, afterall, it wouldn't be the first time. Alex is coiled tightly, ready to launch off the couch at the first sign of disaster, the fact that she is laughing does not even _begin_ to diminish the paralysing fear he carries that things are too good and too perfect and have been for too long. George is propped in an armchair, more white bandage and purple fibreglass cast than he is human being. His tumbler has a straw in it, red and curled with an Astro Boy figurine attached to its side, and he uses his fork to both dissect and transport his lasagne, it will be a while yet before he can manage a knife. All three are staring, slack jawed, in Izzie's direction.

"What?"

Izzie barks the word indignantly but there is laughter in her eyes still, tears on her flushed cheeks. She catches Meredith's gaze last and finds a knowing grin mirroring her own. Meredith is there, in fact she was probably there _before_ Izzie spurted soft drink all over the carpet. Her smile widens and she giggles again. Meredith joins her this time, wrapping her arms around her ribs and tilting her head back against the side of George's armchair, unable to speak, to explain.

"What the hell?"

Jurassic Park continues to rumble along in the background. An unremarkable soundtrack to a truly remarkable moment... _'You shouldn't use my name.... Dodgson, Dodgson, we have Dodgson here! See? Nobody cares. Nice hat! What are ya tryin' to look like - a secret agent?' _...

Cristina is watching Meredith, but Meredith's eyes are closed and her shoulders are heaving and for a moment Cristina thinks she might even be _crying_. For real.

George slurps the dregs of his near finished coke through his plastic straw like a child and slides his gaze conspiratorily in Izzie's direction. He is there too. His lips curl and it's still hurts like a bitch to actually laugh but he does his best impression of it and for that the others are more than grateful.

"For God sakes, what the hell...?"

Alex is thoroughly confused and as he looks around the room, at Izzie's kerchief'd head and George's scars and still healing bones, he really doesn't think there is much to laugh about here. The fact that the sound of uncontrolled laughter is so foreign to him speaks volumes for the months that have preceeded this moment. They are making him nervous, the three giggling crazy people, although, to be fair, almost everything makes him nervous these days. Nervous and wary and terrified to the tips of his toes.

Meredith can barely breathe, let alone speak and so she shrugs her shoulders and raises her eyebrows in George's direction, imploring him to let the other two in on their little secret. He nods but turns to Izzie, this is her explanation to give.

"Nothing... everything... this..."

She sweeps her arm expansively around Meredith's living room, as though the room itself holds all the answers.

"...it's just like old times only... more diamonds and less hair and internal organs..."

Izzie collapses back into laughter, rolling to her side on the floor. Meredith's shoulders continue to shake and George's lips remain curled in silent agreement. Cristina catches Alex's gaze briefly, long enough to see him visibly relax, just a little. Just enough. And she settles back into the couch with a satisfied smirk.

The first night it is just the five of them again, it is the most remarkable thing of all.


	10. I is for Intertwined

**Title:** I is for Intertwined... (A Requiem for the Rain Clouds)

**Characters/Pairing: **Alex/Izzie and Alex Mer friendship.

**Word Count: **3600

**Summary: **Post crash carts and intubation trays and requests left unheeded, they lasted another seventeen months and still, in the end, it all came to nothing. Because she is dead. And he is alone. And it all came to nothing.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Author's Note: **Written for SLYBRUNETTE as part of the alphabet meme.

**Disclaimer: **All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and all the characters, settings, and events thereof, are properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for profit, it constitutes fair use. Referral to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

* * *

They clasped hands and made promises they didn't know how to keep. They exchanged gazes, wide eyed and giddy and toasted to a future they didn't know how to live. And in the end it all came to nothing. Like it always had. Like it seemed it always would.

His adamant fury kept her heart beating and his raging terror kept her lungs filling and the steady push and pull of the machinery she had steadfastly refused to accept kept his sanity intact for just a little while longer. And still, in the end, it all came to nothing.

Because she is dead. And he is alone, and he forgets which state he is in (and because she is dead and because you are alone, the name of the state no longer matters).

* * *

They lasted seventeen months. Post crash carts and intubation trays and requests left unheeded, they lasted another seventeen months.

And it was more than he ever expected, more than he had ever deemed himself worthy.

She never forgave him, he doesn't think, not for betraying her in the biggest way possible, even though, in the end, he _was_ right. And maybe she never forgave him for _that_ either. His desperate request, upheld despite signatured, legalised documentation, had saved her life and, later, she always said she was 'fine' with it, but it was one of _those_ 'fines', loaded and just the wrong side of truthful. But he didn't care. He'd do it again, after all, seventeen months was practically a lifetime.

And in the fallout he transfers east, whether to the sun or away from the rain he can never quite tell. It is her decision as much as it is his realisation. Under normal circumstances, circumstances that don't give consideration to five percent survival rates and fairytale weddings dropped into desperate laps, she would never have said yes, he knows this like he knows the colour of her eyes and the touch of her skin and the erratic beat of his own heart.

Not in a million years. And sometimes he wonders what it was all about. Was it love?

But he knows what it was. It was a part he played, a role. Just for a little while, a fleeting moment, enough to give him a glimpse of what could have been. Had the stars aligned just a little more fully, had the gods smiled upon him just a little more convincingly, he could have had all that.

He could have had all that and more. But it is done now. Stolen vows recited and recanted. Final curtain drawn, red and heavy.

He'd never been taught how to be that person, the one that defied the odds and you can only wing something like that for so long before the cracks appear, before the facade chips away, before the truth wins. Final bow.

The end.

And so he transfers east (and when it's stormy you think only of her; and of rain clouds).

* * *

_He should be asleep but isn't and when the phone rings he has a sudden, choking desire for a cigarette even though the last time he smoked it was still the nineties and his hair hung in his eyes and a different girl screamed his name every other weekend while his father beat the shit out of his mother in another room._

_Another place._

_Some other time._

"_Karev."_

"_Alex?"_

"_That's what I said."_

"_Alex?"_

"_Did we not already cover that? Who is this? Grey?"_

"_Alex..."_

"_Christ, Grey. It's four am here, what's going on?"_

"_Alex, it's Izzie..."_

_And the first undulating hiss of fear steals his breath. _

"_Izzie? Is she okay? Is she..."_

_He trails off, fumbling for a light switch, a match, a cigarette lighter. _

_Anything to alleviate the suffocating darkness._

"_No, it's not the cancer... the cancer's still gone..."_

_And he would sigh with relief if he wasn't so Goddamn sure that her next words were going to ice his veins._

"_There was an accident..."_

_And there it was._

_Ice._

_He doesn't speak._

_He can't speak._

"_There was an accident, she went to see her Mom, the other driver was drunk and... Alex... there was an accident..."_

_There is no need to ask for outcomes and odds. The four am phone call provides all the information he could ever need._

_He doesn't recognise that he isn't breathing until his cell phone hits the floor. And it no longer matters that the lights are out because, from now on in, the lights will always be out._

_Might as well get used to it._

_And he thinks he truly might have loved her once._

_

* * *

  
_

He buys cigarettes from a dusty twenty four hour convenience store in a part of the city he's never visited before. His shirt sticks to his back and the naked bulb above his head hums a ceaseless tune and the oily teenager behind the counter doesn't even look at him, much less attempt a conversation, which suits him just fine. It's warm out, but isn't it always and he thinks he should walk to the beach but he moved here months ago and he's not been there once yet so he wonders, idly, why he should start now.

And besides, if he walks to the waters edge he can't be sure he won't just keep on going. Oblivion?

Reconciliation.

But he's never been the type for martyr-dom so he leaves without looking and sleeps in his car. Finds a spot far enough away from the ocean that he can't hear the waves and far enough away from the bars that he can't hear the people and far enough away from everything else that it's remotely possible he's not even here at all anymore. Except he is, so he stares at a scuff mark on the roof of his Jeep until his eyes blur and his heart stops racing (because you know she was everything to you, everything you could ever have imagined and now she is gone, and you... you are nothing again).

The trip west takes longer than it ever should but is still over all too quickly. Endlessly black asphalt disappears beneath the hood as head lights give way to sunlight; sunlight gives way to midnight.

He stares at the empty faces of the drivers in the cars that he passes, the cars that pass him. He wonders if any of them have been drinking, if any of them are drunk, if they'll run him off the road and into the oblivion he thinks he may already be headed towards.

He stops only when the gas light blinks on and, once, at a roadside marker. A white cross covered in roses, long since dried and bleached of colour, it wasn't her, it could never have been her, but it might as well have been and so he drops to his knees in the dust and pebbled glass and manages, only just, to keep it all together enough that he doesn't seem to miss the pieces of himself that he leaves right there on the side of the road. He thinks it probably won't matter anyway, that he won't need them anymore. Those pieces? They'd been hers for a long time. Maybe even forever.

He drives through Iowa without breathing. Rolls the windows up tight and refuses to look at anything other than the strip of endless black in front of him because he knows that if he stops, if he stops _here_, he'll never get going again.

It doesn't rain until he reaches Seattle, aged and weary. Dried sweat and stale cigarette smoke and something else, something raw and untouched (and you know she'd tell you to pull yourself together, but she's dead and she can't so you don't think you'll bother).

* * *

He drives by Meredith's old house despite knowing that none of them live there anymore. She and Derek have their castle on the hill, O'Malley's been in a box in the ground for more months than Alex can bring himself to count and now Izzie, she is there too.

He keeps on driving.

* * *

His head is pounding in time with his heart beat and the combined effect is enough to make him want to vomit in the gutter. He watches the streetlight outside Joe's flicker in and out with a morbid fascination, tells himself that when it dims to black for the seventh time he'll go in, the eleventh time, the seventeenth, when it burns out completely, finally. He knows they are in there because he watches them walk in. They don't see him and they are huddled together in a group, like one of those high school cliques that he hated with a passion all those years (and lifetimes) ago and it is all he can do not to turn away and leave right then and there. But he was a part of that group once, or something that kind of resembled it anyway, and he can't begrudge them the solidarity of their strength in numbers mentality, especially not now. There is a cigarette dangling from his fingertips, ashy and warm. Comforting. There never seems to be enough air in his lungs to actually smoke the damn things, but he lights them all the same, halfheartedly puffs once or twice, waits 'til they burn to a stub then lights the next one from what remains of the embers of the first.

Rinse and repeat.

And as he pushes the heavy door open, Joe's looks the same but kinda different as well. Quieter, infinitely sadder, as though even the walls know, and they probably do. But it's okay because he is different too (you used to meet her here and her presence is still tangible, cloying at the woodwork; you'd cry if you could, if crying was something you were still capable of).

Callie Torres spots him first and he watches as she leans across the table to whisper his arrival to the others. Eyes turn to him, one pair at a time. Their combined weight is immense.

He didn't go to the funeral. Their disgust and condemnation is clear.

But he knows as well as they do that she would never have expected him to be there. And he is nothing if not predictable. She died in his arms once, literally. She would never have expected him to be there.

He has never been a man of many words, actions speak louder and all that crap. This occasion is no exception and as he takes a seat by the bar and catches Joe's eye, tries not to flinch at the surprise hidden there, he waits for the inevitable. When compared to everything else, the inevitable here will be nothing more than a glancing blow. It'll sting for a while no doubt, everything does, even when you pretend it doesn't, but it won't last.

Unless it does.

Because some of them know him like she did. And he can pretend all he likes, but they know what her absence has the power to do to him. It is bad for them, her death. Devastating and inconceivable. But for him it is so very much more. And so very much worse. They know that.

For him it is the end (and you know that it sounds fatalistic and overly dramatic and that she'd hate that she has that kind of power but it is the truth, she was your one chance and it was one more than you thought you'd ever have).

Joe starts in his direction and the pounding in his chest creeps up another notch as he shakes his head _no_. His hands tremble and his breathing hitches and he needs to get the hell out. Now.

There is soft laughter as he leaves. He feels the melody inch it's way up his spine, intimately familiar, and settle somewhere between his shoulder blades.

* * *

"_You know I love you, don't you?"_

_Her eyes are a bright, tequila haze; her lips, cherry red and pouty, it's all he can do not to slam her up against the bar and have her right here. _

_With an audience. She grins because she knows what he is thinking (and she always did know what you were thinking)._

"_You know you're drunk, don't you?"_

_He throws her words back at her. Evade and escape._

"_Doesn't mean I don't know that I love you."_

"_Yeah, yeah. You say that now. Wait 'til I'm seventy and I've gotta pop a pill twenty minutes before you wanna have your way with me... see if you still love me then..."_

_She laughs, head thrown back, loud and hard. Their audience watches. They are an eye catching duo, if there is nothing else real about them, they are certainly that._

"_You really think we'll still be married when you're seventy?"_

_She is pensive suddenly, thoughtful. Worried?_

"_Not a chance."_

_She grins and there is lipstick on her teeth. He eats it off as their audience turns their backs. _

_

* * *

_

He contemplates getting a hotel for the night, something cheap and as far from the hospital as he can manage.

He ends up in an on call room. Sleeps deep and dreamless and makes sure he is gone again before the hospital comes to life the next morning.

She is buried near the trailer park that raised her. The cemetery is small and unobtrusive and nothing like she ever was. It takes him forty five minutes just to find the place.

He forgets flowers and contemplates stealing some from another site. In the end he plucks a daisy from a tuft of lawn and sits, cross legged, on the freshly dug mound in front of her name.

_Isobel Stevens_

_Loved and loving daughter_

_Remembered forever_

As though that is all she ever was. All she had ever been. He retches but can't vomit. Sinks instead into the soft dirt beneath him. Sinks so low he wonders if he'll hit wood. And bones. Almost wants to.

He detaches the petals, one by one. Discarding them by his knees.

"She loves me, she loves me not..."

And usually he's not one for speaking to stone slabs but nothing about him and her was ever usual and so he makes an exception.

"I miss you."

(and you always waited for rain with a fervored determination that completely confused you; but she was in the rain and you know that now)

"I used to wonder what would've happened if we'd done it all properly. Waited 'til you weren't sick anymore, 'til it didn't matter so much... but I know if we'd waited it never would've happened. And I don't regret it. I don't regret one single thing. Well, except for maybe the end... but that was inevitable, we both know that... right, Iz?"

He waits for an answer that never comes.

That will never come.

White petals strewn across dark earth.

He wants to tell her that he loved her, loves her, will never stop loving her. Not because of anything she did or didn't do, she is not to blame for that. She was herself and he loved her, there can be no blame laid for that. He wants to remind her that they have test tube babies in a lab somewhere and that he really wishes he knew whether they were blonde and bright like her or brown and broody like him, but he's kind of glad he doesn't know too. He wants to tell her that the pink dress she wore on prom night was the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, that she was the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, but he knows she wore that dress for someone else and he would cut it to shreds if he could find it now.

"She loves me... she loves me not..."

He wants to tell her that he likes his new job, that he can breathe there. That she would love the kids he deals with, that he is good, maybe even great, with but that he could sure use her help with the parents. He wants to tell her about the hideous yellow wallpaper in his bathroom that he can't bring himself to get rid of because he always kinda hoped that she'd come and help him redecorate and about the skinny ginger kitten that adopted him and mews pitifully at his bedroom window until he relents and opens it just enough. He wants to tell her six months worth of stories in one breath, to hear her laugh and cry and go crazy and tell him all her stories in return.

"She loves me... she loves me not..."

But there are no more petals left so he tosses the stalk into the wind and buries his face in his hands and fights the urge to scream and dig and all manner of other unspeakable things.

* * *

"_Your mother would love me..."_

"_Oh really? What makes you think that?"_

_Her panties are on the floor and he's set about making sure her bra follows suit._

"_All mothers love me..."_

"_But what does your mother think of me?"_

"_My mother wants to play doctors and nurses with you so you are never ever allowed to see her... ever, ever again..."_

_He picks her up, hands sweaty, slippery and they both drop onto her bed, naked... almost._

"_You still have your socks on..."_

"_My feet are cold..."_

"_Iz... you still have your socks on..."_

"_We're married now. There are rules... I don't have to take my socks off when we have sex anymore..."_

_He laughs into her hair, what there is of it. It's growing back... slowly, softly._

"_I'm having sex with freakin' Sinead O'Connor and she has socks on... great..."_

_She slaps at him playfully, bites down on his lip and growls into his mouth._

"_You did not just call me Sinead O'Connor..."_

_He rolls so that she is underneath him, blue eyes bright, glassy. Breath coming in soft pants. _

"_Shut up..." he whispers, thickly, "... just shut up and kiss me..."_

_

* * *

  
_

The air moves behind him and despite the lack of decent sunshine a shadow is cast across her headstone. An angular silhouette he would know anywhere. Neither of them speak, he doesn't even breathe. And her presence only makes it all the more real somehow. Fingers settle, feather light, on his shoulder, he flinches and swipes a hand, shaking and earth stained, across his face and through tears he didn't (couldn't) know existed.

He owes her an explanation, he thinks he owes her something. He hasn't spoken to her since she dropped the news and he dropped the phone and everything else dropped him (and you're not even sure your voice would work anymore, even if you did have something meaningful, something adequate to say). The fingers on his shoulder tighten and the movement and the pressure say more than he could ever hope to anyway.

He crumbles then like he always swore he would never do. Bends at the waist until his forehead touches the soft earth and his tears become mud on his lips (and you swear you can almost... almost taste her again).

She still doesn't speak but he knows she is there, behind him somewhere. Sitting...

Waiting...

Watching...

She is probably the only person who understands him, the only person _left_ who understands him. And it is because of this that he can't look at her, can't speak to her, can't have anything to do with her. And so he pushes up from the dirt and the tears and the memories at his feet, turns to leave and doesn't look back.

She calls his name then, it is an apology and an acknowledgment and an _it's okay_ and an _I understand _all rolled into two syllables. It makes his shoulders shake and his knees threaten to send him back to the ground and his vision blurs momentarily to a watery grey.

He is stuck, metaphorically, literally, figuratively. He can't go back, there can be no going back from something like this, despite the fact that he wants to, wants to so badly it makes his skin crawl and his fingernails itch. But forward seems impossible, too. He's not even sure that forward exists and if it does he sure as hell can't see it.

His mouth moves, opens and closes and forms a soundless stream of meaningless words. Arms circle him from behind, the touch is foreign, unwanted and he struggles to remove them, to get them the hell _off_. She says his name again and he wants to scream. To pull his hair out, to punch his fist through the windscreen of the Jeep.

He thought she'd always be here. Even when he was on the other side of the country he thought she'd always be here, even though he, of all people, should know that the chances of that were slim. So slim. His fingers tangle in the grass and it is only then that he realises he is no longer standing, she is still wrapped around him and they are sprawled on the grass, damp and staining.

"God, I miss her so much... so so so much... what the hell am I supposed to do now?"

* * *

_Her fingernails trail matching tracks across his shoulder blades, arching his back and curling his toes. Her breath is hot on his neck and he pulls her mouth towards his..._

"_Kiss me, Alex Karev, kiss me so you don't miss me..."_


	11. H is for Help

Title: H is for Help (One more drink and I'll move on...)

Characters: Alex and George friendship NOT slash (implied Alex/Izzie, implied ex George/Izzie, implied ex Denny/Izzie).

Word Count: 1000

Rating: PG

Summary: A coda to the George/Alex bar scene at the end of Sweet Surrender (5.20).

Note: Title is a line from the Dave Matthew's Band song, Grace is Gone. Written for ICEWHISPER as part of the alphabet meme.

**One more drink and I'll move on...**

By Waltzmatildah

--

Joe's is uncharacteristically quiet as George lowers himself onto a stool and fights the urge to lay his head on the barmat in front of him. It's been a harrowing day of trauma and suicide attempts, in-fighting with Alex, dying best friends and a whole heap of other things that he'd like nothing more than to forget forever.

George has never been able to understand what it is that makes Alex tick and beyond the lure of fame and fortune he can't for the life of him figure out why he chose medicine as a career path. Maybe it was nothing more than a big _eff you_ to all the people along the way that have undoubtedly told him he'll never succeed at anything. Maybe his choices were made for him, by people or situations that George can't even being to comprehend, or maybe it was none of those things. Maybe he is genuine and concerned and interested and desperate to help and all those things a medical student _should_ be. Maybe.

Maybe that's what Izzie sees in him.

He offers a quick grin in Joe's direction, attempts lighthearted conversation for a few minutes before ordering a beer and fumbling in his pocket for his wallet.

The door behind him opens, the noises from outside come inside momentarily as a blast of cold air curls around his shoulders and he hunches a little lower into the bar in front of him.

--

Alex slams his locker closed with a little more force than is strictly necessary and slumps until his forehead is resting on the cool metal. He is exhausted and terrified and disgusted with himself, a level of self loathing that burrows all the way to his core. He can hear muffled conversation behind him, inane and meaningless, and it is the only thing that stops him tilting his head back and screaming, loud and raw and desperate.

He can count on one hand the hours of sleep he's managed to grab in the last three nights, he's been trying to be a supportive boyfriend, trying to be a professional surgical resident, trying to be a decent housemate and friend, turns out he pretty much sucks at all three. And really, it shouldn't be a surprise to him, not by now.

He weighs up his options, none of which are particularly appealing. Visit Izzie and her Denny hallucinating tumours, head home and finally finish the laundry, or do one more round of his post operative patients.

He ends up heading for Joe's and he hates that beer is his answer for this situation, it reeks of hypocrisy and failure and any number of other things he can't bring himself to name.

--

A body settles heavily onto the stool beside him and George doesn't even have to turn his head to know who it is going to be. He fights the urge to sigh because honestly, he can't do this right now. Argue, defend himself, _explain_ himself, any of it. Not now, maybe not ever. They've never been friends and he doesn't see why common ground, _dying_ common ground, should change that now.

When Izzie made her choice no one said George had to like it.

"You kicked my ass today..."

Alex's voice betrays the fact that he is as shattered as George feels and as he continues something inside George shifts a little, painfully grating at frayed edges.

"...I'm good, but I'm not like you..."

And George thinks that is as close to an apology as he'll ever get and it's more than he ever expected. He nods slowly but doesn't speak, doesn't look. There is something in Alex's voice that warns him not to, a quiet pleading that George isn't familiar with and it only confirms that he really doesn't know anything about his fellow resident at all. Nothing important anyway, nothing lasting or bruising or real.

"She's really sick..."

Alex continues to speak, jumps to a tangent that ices George's veins because... he _knows_ this.

"... and I'm not good under pressure..."

George could lie and say he thinks Alex will do just fine, but he knows neither of them will believe it and history isn't on his side, George doesn't know much about Alex but he does know that.

Instead he slides his untouched beer along the bar, a liquid peace offering of sorts and nods towards Joe to order himself a replacement.

--

Alex takes a shuddering breath and speaks before he thinks, which, despite what people may think about him, isn't something he usually does. He knows though, that if he thinks about _this_, what he's about to say next, he'll think himself out of it and by the time he's spoken the words aloud he's almost wishing he had.

It's not enough, it'll never be enough, but it's more than he though he could give and, thankfully, George seems to get it.

It wasn't an apology, it wasn't an acknowledgment, it wasn't even a declaration of fact. It was a plea for help and, thankfully, George seems to get it.


	12. Z is for Zenith

Title: Z is for Zenith (Takes more than just a memory to make me cry...)

Word Count: 400 word drabble.

Characters: Alex, Meredith, Cristina (mentions of George and Izzie).

Rating: PG

Summary: Post season five finale... It takes seventeen days before they are all back on shift together. No one will say a word. A bleak look at the future.

Author's Note: Written as part of the alphabet meme for lving_darkness. Title is a line from the classic Cold Chisel song, Flame Trees. Those of you who don't know it need to hear it like... yesterday. I'd link it if I was anywhere near clever enough.

Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and all the characters, settings, and events thereof, are properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for profit, it constitutes fair use. Referral to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

**Takes more than just a memory to make me cry...**

By Waltzmatildah

--

It will take seventeen days before they are all back on shift together. They will return in staggers, Cristina first, the very next day. Meredith second, later than Cristina only because she will become the unspoken 'Alex watcher' that he'll swear black and blue he doesn't need. It will take four days of forced conversation and feigned sleep for her to believe him. The interns will be re-distributed, like commodities to be traded and fought over. A familiar scenario, they have been through that before. Only there will be no fighting this time. No one will say a word.

They will still occupy the same table in the cafeteria during lunch. An unspoken rule from before. No one else will even look sideways at it. Five chairs for the three remaining residents and the ghosts of two more that they will carry with them forever, an almost visible shroud. Two seats side by side, one next to Alex... for Izzie. One next to Izzie... for George. No one will say a word.

And it won't be hard to wonder about a parallel scene at some point high above them, where things are the same as they always were. Where cafeteria seats are not left empty as some kind of tragic memorial, where they don't sit around underwhelmed by sarcasm and biting comments and the tang of knowing that they'd all rather be somewhere else, anywhere else. No one will say a word.

Physically, they will become three, but they will always carry the spirit of five. It's an incomplete circle otherwise, with the most integral bits missing. The fun and the warmth and the crazy and the naïve. They will need those parts to balance out the rest. The dark and the twisty and the sarcasm and the damage. No one will say a word.

But, overtime and despite fervored intentions to _never forget_, the memories will fade. Faces will blur and voices will become distant echoes of another time, some other place. Cafeteria chairs will break and won't be replaced. Shampoo bottles will be thrown out and clothing will gradually disappear into goodwill bins. They will all notice but no one will say a word.

And the parallel scene at the zenith of where the three of them stand at that point will become a rising song. They will feel the thumping beat and hear the rolling tune but because they won't remember what they are or what they ever were, no one will say a word.


	13. X is for X Ray

Author's Note: I wrote this for three reasons, one – for icewhisper for the alphabet meme that I'm slowly working my way through and two – beacause I can't remember a single scene in 5 years of footage that was just Alex, George and Cristina and three – because icewhisper and I both love a little (okay, a lot of) gratuitious hurt!Alex.

**So need your love, so fuck you all...** (X is for X Ray)

by Waltzmatildah

* * *

It takes George a few seconds to realise the that annoying beeping he can hear is coming from his own pocket. He's spent the last thirty seven hours at the hospital and he's not exactly sleeping, but he's not all that awake either. He doesn't bother with the caller ID, there is only one person who ever rings him.

"Hi, mom," he sighs into the handset, sinking down onto the bench in front of his locker. There is a pause at the other end of the line, he can hear the sound of traffic in the background, and heavy breathing, just a little louder than the cars.

"Mom?" he questions, slightly more awake now. He pulls the phone away from his ear and gives the screen a cursory glance. His eyebrows knit together in confusion as he realises his assumption was a mistake.

"Alex?"

The reply at the other end is almost giggled and George wants to kick himself because, dammit, of all the people it could have been on the line, he had to call Alex 'mom'. He can still hear Alex at the other end, giving him shit about something he really couldn't care less about it, he cuts him off.

"Alex? What do you want?"

"_Meredith's not answering her phone..."_

"She's in surgery with Dr. Hunt. You rang me to tell me that Meredith's not answering her phone?"

"_No, it's just..."_ George can hear Alex sigh at the other end of the line, frustrated and impatient, like it's George's fault she's busy. He senses Alex needs something and can't quite bring himself to ask George for it.

"Alex, can I help? Where are you? Aren't you meant to be here? It sounds like you're in traffic somewhere..."

"_No, no, it's fine. Just get Grey to call me when she's..."_

"Alex, seriously. She's in surgery. What do you need?"

There is a pause at the other end, the sound of the cars passing intensifies and George can almost see Alex struggling to relent.

"_Is Yang there?"_

Now it's George's turn to sigh because... seriously? Is he really that bad?

"Yes, she's here... we'll not here, here, but she's here at the hospital. I just saw her..."

"_Okay... is she in surgery?"_

"What? Alex... I said I just saw her, no she's not in surgery. Are you okay?"

Another pause, and by now George is really staring to think that maybe he should be worried.

"_Can you come pick me up?"_

Yep, he definitely should be worried.

"Pick you up? Where from?"

"_Um, the park..."_

"The park? Which park? There are lots of parks in Seattle, Alex."

"_Jeezus, O'Malley, the park down the road from the hospital, I don't know what it's called, the one with the empty fountain thing in it..."_

"Oh, okay... but that's like... five minutes away, why do you need picking up."

"_O'Malley, seriously. Can you pick me up or not?"_

George concedes finally, acknowledges that for Alex to have resorted to asking him for help then something has oviously happened, something he is definitely not planning on telling George about just yet.

"Fine, I'll be there in ten..."

_"Um, O'Malley..."_

There is hesitation in Alex's voice, like there is more to this favour than meets the eye.

"_Can you bring Yang with you?"_

"Cristina? What? Why? Izzie's in the clin-"

"_No. No. Don't tell Izzie. Just find Cristina and bring her with you, tell her there'll be surgeries in it for her. That'll make her come, just... don't mention anything to Izzie yet."_

By now George is thoroughly confused and he seriously thinks he's going to struggle to convince Cristina to do _anything_, let alone traipse down the road to pick up Alex. Especially without a decent reason, though he thinks that maybe the fact that Alex called him at all is reason enough.

It's more like twenty minutes before George and an extremely reluctant and somewhat furious Cristina make their way through the park not far from the main entrance to the hospital. The echo of Cristina's _'if this is some kind of joke, I'm having both your surgeries for the next month'_ still ringing in his ears.

The park is small which is lucky because the weather is absolutely foul; freezing and wet and bitterly windy, and it only takes them a few minutes to locate Alex, seated on a bench at the bottom of some well worn concrete stairs.

"About freakin' time," he offers by way of a hello and if he wasn't completely and utterly drenched, not to mention tinged a little blue, George would probably turn around and walk right back to the car again. Cristina does.

"Okay, fine... I'm sorry..." Alex calls to her retreating back, slightly frantic and breathless. She turns towards him with raised eyebrows and meets George's gaze momentarily over the top of Alex's head. The silent _'what the fuck'_ is clear in her eyes but George thinks he may already have things figured out. He rounds the bench and positions himself in front of the still seated Alex, arms crossed in front of him, both to keep warm and to look intimidating. He doesn't think it's working on either count. There is a reddish scrape on Alex's left cheekbone and his palms, facing up in his lap, are torn and bleeding sluggishly. His eyes are glazed and he looks somewhat defeated and miserable. George can't help but grin.

"Left or right?"

"What?" Now it's Alex's turn to be confused, and as he continues to shiver silently in front of him, George decides to cut to the chase.

"Leg, right or left leg? Because seriously, only you would be stupid enough to run to work on a day like today. So I'm guessing that you fell down these stairs here..." George gestures vaguely behind him, in the general direction of the concrete stairs he'd noticed earlier, "... and did, I dunno, some kind of damage that meant you couldn't make it the rest of the way to the hospital and I'm also guessing that Izzie warned you about this happening this morning before you left which is why you were so adamant that I not tell her and finally I'm guessing that you were hoping that Meredith would come and pick you up so no one would have to find out, only Meredith ruined your plans and so now you are stuck with us."

Cristina has joined George, they are standing almost shoulder to shoulder, their poses mirrored. She releases a burst of harsh laughter that has Alex closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, causing her to stop as fast as she started. George is fairly certain that his guesses have hit the nail on the head and he can't help but notice that Alex actually looks pretty bad. Probably concussed, most certainly cold and wet, and definitely in pain. He opens his eyes again and looks up at them both from under lashes that are heavy with rain.

"Left," is all he offers, but it's tight and squeaky and has George shrugging out of his coat and settling it around Alex's shoulders because this may be Evil Spawn but George is still a gentleman. Alex glares at him but makes no move to reject the offer and George thinks that must be the turning point for Cristina too because she squats suddenly and picks up his wrists without a word to examine the damage.

"Ouch," she comments and the tension finally breaks as Alex sighs and relaxes a inch.

"Ya think?"

"So, we've narrowed it down to the left, where abouts? Ankle? Knee? Hip?" And George _really_ hopes it's not the hip, because if it is then this rescue mission just got a whole lot more complicated.

"Knee or ankle, not really sure anymore..."

"You're not really sure? How can you not be sure?" Cristina barks, looking up at him like he's gone mad, but George gets it.

"Well, I'd say it's a combination of the concussion and the bone numbing cold that is making it kind of hard to tell? Am I right?"

"Yeah..." Alex nods slowly, "... that and the fact that they've both been reconstructed in the past, could be either, though it's probably both..."

"Oh, damn." Alex knows that that is as close to sympathy as he's likely to get from Cristina anytime soon.

"Yeah, damn."

"What the hell happened?"

"Um, I got pushed down the stairs there..." Alex lifts his chin and uses it to indicate behind them.

"You got _pushed_?"

"Okay, fine. So I tripped and fell, there was no pushing involved, whatever..."

George allows himself a smirk, just a quick one that he tries not to let the others see.

"So, where to from here?"

"Well, I was kinda hoping that you two would take me home..."

"Take you home? What? Are you crazy? You need x-rays and scans and maybe even surgery... Wait a second!"

Alex and George both turn to Cristina, waiting for her to contine... just like she's asked.

"Is _this_ the surgery you were talking about, when you said if I came here there would be surgery in it for me? Ortho.? You think _ortho_. is enough to make me come half way across town to collect your sorry ass? The least you could have done is punctured a damn lung. Do I _look_ like Torres?"

"Cristina! Geez!"

George squats as she straightens back to standing and hovers his hands over Alex's left foot.

"Can I have a look?"

"No, shit! Don't touch it."

"Alex, seriously. You may not remember this, being all concussed and everything, but I am a doctor, a surgeon actually, just like you..."

"You are nothing like me, O'Malley..." Alex counters, but it's quiet and defeated and there is no sting in his words, "...just... be careful, please?"

George nods and doesn't look up, there was something about the _please _at the end of that request that was painful to hear and so he sets about rolling the black fabric of Alex's trackpants up as far as he can without actually moving the leg. Apparently it's not gentle enough as Alex muffles what George is sure was the start of a scream into the crook of his elbow. It morphs the sound into a groan that makes Cristina jump.

"Um, Alex? Do you think I should maybe call an ambulance? You don't look too good?"

George looks up as Cristina speaks, there is worry in her voice that he's rarely heard before, not without bomb threats or ferry boats involved anyway, and suddenly he can see why. Alex is shaking, visibly and his face is ghost white, George sticks two fingers out and reaches for the pulse below his right ear.

"Shit, Alex... okay... I think maybe an ambulance is a good idea..."

"No, nnnnnoooo, no no, it's okay... I'm okay... just take me home..." his teeth are chattering now, and his eyes are completely glazed over from the pain. He makes a move to stand, stuttered and halting and both George and Cristina lunge for him and push him back down onto the bench. In a move that couldn't have been more precise if it had been choreographed, George cradles both of Alex's legs in his arms as Cristina grabs his shoulders and they lift and turn in unison to have him lying on his back on the bench before he can react.

Alex groans again and slings an arm across his eyes.

"'Mmm gonna be sick..."

"No you're not," Cristina counters, "just take some deep breaths, if you vomit on O'Malley's jacket he'll tell the whole hospital how you squealed like a girl..."

"I didn't squeal..."

"I know, but who are they gonna believe?"

The banter effectively gets Alex's mind of the roiling nausea and dizziness and George takes the opportunity to pull the trouser leg back down. He's enough of a doctor to know that there is nothing he can do for Alex here, they need to get him back to the hospital. He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and takes a few steps away.

"Who are you calling?" The suspicion in Alex's voice is almost but not quite masked by groggy confusion and George just wishes he would shut up and trust them.

"Santa Claus, who do you think I'm calling?"

Cristina has removed her own jacket and is laying it over Alex's upper body, testament to the amount of concern she is feeling, Alex barely notices as he scrunches his eyes up at George.

"What?"

"Alex, I'm calling an ambulance, I dunno about you but I'm pretty keen to get out of here and it's obvious that your jogging career has been put on hold for a while so I'm calling an amb-"

"No ambulance, just take me home."

"Seriously? You can't even stand up without passing out, I'm calling an ambulance and taking you to the hospital or I'm leaving you here..."

"Okay, fine, you can take me to the hospital but, can't we just go in your car?"

Cristina's uncompassionate snort is somewhat watered down by the fact that she is standing over Alex's head to stop the rain falling in his face.

"How do you propose we get you back to the car?"

Alex struggles to a sitting position and they let him, heartened somewhat by the fact that he actually manages it without too much swearing. He reaches down towards his knee with both hands and slides his fingers under the back of his leg before slowly lowering his feet back to the ground. It's quite obviously excruciating but neither George or Cristina speak until he's seated upright with both arms in the air.

"What now?" they comment, again in unison.

"Help me up?"

"You are crazy, you know that?" Cristina retorts as she moves to position herself under his right arm. George moves to do the same on his left as Alex replies...

"And that's why you keep me around..."

Cristina laughs as they take their first tentative, miniscule step forward before they both hold their breath tightly, an antidote to Alex's harsh and rasped breathing between them.

"I swear to God, if we get back to the hospital and this is just a sprain I'm stabbing you in the chest myself just so I can sew you back up..."

George releases a sigh of relief as Cristina's banter allows him to focus on things that aren't Alex's pained moans and the twitching shudder of his muscles beneath George's fingers.

"You do realise..." Cristina continues, "... that Izzie is totally gonna say I told you so."


	14. R is for Reaction

Title: R is for Reaction (I think it's gonna rain like this for days...)

Word Count: 1800

Characters: Alex/Cristina with fleeting appearances by Mark and Lexie.

**Rating: R for naughty words and kissing that's not technically consensual.**

Prompt: Reaction for the Alphabet Meme (yes, I'm still doing it).

Summary: "Before you say anything, I'm only here because Meredith thinks you're about to throw yourself off the roof..." Alex's reaction is unexpected, to say the least. Beware, gratuitious hurt!Alex abounds winks knowingly at only_obsession

**R is for Reaction (I think it's gonna rain like this for days...)**

by Waltzmatildah

Alex kneads at the muscles on the left side of his chest, a bottle of scotch, opened but untouched, is clenched between knuckles that are almost blue. The door behind him slams closed with a metallic clang and a pair of knees suddenly block his view of the grey concrete wall opposite him.

"Before you say anything, I'm only here because Meredith thinks you're about to throw yourself off the roof..."

Alex grunts in reply and closes his eyes, continues the kneading, doesn't care how weird he probably looks.

"You're not, are you? Gonna throw yourself off the roof? Should I get ready to scrub in?"

He's not looking at her, she's not even sure he's listening to her.

"Are you gonna drink that?"

"I think I'm having a heart attack..." he offers by way of a reply and two fingers settle on the pulse point below his right ear even as Cristina counters with, "You don't even _have_ a heart..."

They're silent for seconds, her fingers warm on his neck, lingering like maybe she's forgotten she put them there and his breath, just this side of hyperventilating, fogs the air, thick and viscous between them.

He blinks slowly and she can see that he's been crying, maybe still is, and it's almost as shocking as the pounding beat of his blood beneath her fingertips. She wraps her hand around the base of the bottle, they're thumb to pinky as she tugs and he releases the vice like grip he's had on it with a whimper that she doesn't think he hears.

It's her undoing.

Cristina's knees hit the rough ground beneath her as she straddles his lap, scrapes them further as she digs in, squeezing at his hips. Her hand moves from his neck up into his hair, grabs a handful of it, hangs on. He's rigid under her, too stunned to move, to breathe, to react and she kind of likes it like that. Like she has the upper hand.

Alex works his palms up to her shoulders and manages to push her back a few centimetres, enough to get out a breathless _fuck_ before her tongue is down the back of his throat and her left hand is on the wall above his head, effectively pinning him in place.

He moves his hands from her shoulders to her hair, tangles them at the base of her neck and tries not to taste the salt of failure and devastation that clings to his lips, or her lips, he can no longer tell. There's no rhythm in their movements, teeth grate and tongues fight for position, her elbow connects with his ribs and the back of his head slams into the brickwork behind them as the bottle of scotch at their feet is upended, spreading quickly across the concrete and soaking into their clothing.

If she was thinking, she'd know this was a bad idea. If she was thinking at all, she know this was a bad idea of monumental proportions. But she's not thinking as she shoves at his shoulders, and she's not thinking as she pushes and prods until he's slumped sideways, almost horizontal and she's definitely not thinking as her knuckles scrape across concrete, trapped somehow between his head and the cold ground.

His back is twisted at an uncomfortable angle and his left knee is screaming at him to fucking _stop _but her weight is holding him down and he's too exhausted to fight back and he can't time his movements enough to actually take a breath so he lays there and waits for her to finish.

Alex feels the moment that she realises; the air around them freezes and she goes solid under his palms, saucered eyes wide and shocked.

"_Fuck_..." She swipes the back of her hand across her saliva slick mouth as she sits back, grazed knuckles leaving a smear of blood on her chin that he doesn't think he'll tell her about.

He's gulping air like he's drowning, only he can't feel any water and she's still sprawled across his legs, one hand planted in the centre of his chest, holding her up, holding him down, maybe a bit of both. She scrambles back suddenly, til she's up against the wall opposite him, watching as he struggles to roll to the side, gasping and clawing at his throat.

He coughs wildly and she's back in her bedroom with rough hands around her neck and an overhead fan that whirs around and around and around...

"I can't..."

Alex voice snaps her back, she forces herself to look at him, he's fumbling in his pocket, still hunched over, coughing and gagging and she almost vomits instinctively at the sight. The sounds of his struggle fades to nothing, replaced by the roaring rush of her own blood in her ears as she slowly realises that something is not right.

Besides the fucking obvious of course.

"Alex?"

He looks over at her, his eyes rolling slightly in a way that makes her stomach dip. He's on his hands and knees, forehead almost touching the ground. It's started to rain, creating a shiny polka dot pattern across the dark of his jacketed back, and he's shaking violently but she doesn't think it's really all that cold.

"Alex?" she repeats, still not sure enough of her own voice to say anything more than his name.

He lifts a hand and scratches his nails down the side of his throat so hard that red welts remain, dotted pits of ragged skin and blood that match the welts she's sure she just created on his back. It looks like anaphalaxis but she can't think of anything that could have caused it.

Except her, maybe he's allergic to her.

"Jesus..." she breathes, pressing back into the wall behind her before propelling forward and collapsing at his side, hands hovering, too terrified to touch.

"Alex, what the...?"

He's making noises that she's never heard a human make before and there are tears and saliva streaming from his lower lip.

He grabs at her hand and tugs on her arm and his mouth moves but no words can form around the hacking coughs and she's usually so cool in a crisis and this is definitely a crisis but she can't remember a single fucking medical fact.

He screams, it's disjointed and terrified and Cristina's blood runs ice cold through her veins. She wraps her fingers roughly around his upper arm and hauls him upright using strength she didn't know she had. He stumbles and lands heavily on his knees, almost taking her with him.

"Get up! _Fucking get up_..." she's screaming and almost hysterical and he's heavy and only getting heavier, she needs to move him and fast.

Alex has one arm around her shoulders and the other splayed against the wall, as though the combination of both Cristina and the brickwork beside him can keep him upright. His chest is on fire, absolutely and completely and he wonders vaguely if he's been shot but he doesn't remember hearing a gun go off so he doesn't think so. There is rain in his eyes and running down the back of his neck and his head pounds in time with his heart. Attempting to breathe has become an exercise in futility and he concentrates instead on putting one foot in front of the other.

Cristina is yelling, he can hear her voice but he can't make out the words, they're nothing much more than background noise to him now. The rain has stopped, Alex is thankful for that but then he realises that they're suddenly inside and at the top of a set of stairs that he can't even contemplate navigating. His vision greys in and out of focus and he's still aware enough to know that if he doesn't get some air into his lungs in the next few seconds then things are going to head south pretty fucking quickly for him.

Cristina drags Alex to the top of the stairs that will lead them back into the main area of the hospital and doesn't stop to think about how she's going to get them both safely to the bottom. She's screaming for help as she moves them, over and over and over again without drawing breath and they're about two thirds of their way down when the door in front of them opens at exactly the same time as Alex collapses completely and takes them both heavily to the floor.

It's Sloan and Lexie that come bustling through the opening and for a second she thinks she might actually vomit in relief. Lexie's jaw drops and she freezes a few steps in, but Mark continues on towards them and has Alex on his back before Cristina can disentangle her own feet from his.

"Yang? What on Earth?"

Lexie still hasn't moved and Cristina wants to scream at her to do something, anything, but they just stare at each other, wide eyed mirrors, frozen in place.

"He's not breathing, Cristina... Jesus..." Mark is struggling to lift Alex but he's too heavy and Cristina snaps suddenly and grabs for his ankles, indicating for Lexie to help Mark with his head.

"_Go_!" She shouts redundantly when they have him slung between them, limp and disconcertingly silent, and they move awkwardly as one, through the doorway and out into the hall.

"What the hell happened?"

Cristina raises her eyes to look at Mark as his nose crinkles at the smell of the scotch that has soaked the leg of Alex's jeans.

"Were you drinking up there? Is he drunk?"

"No!" she shouts, loud and irrationally defensive. "No, we spilled a bottle of scotch, but he didn't drink any of it, I don't know what happened. I think it's anaphalaxis but I have no idea what the trigger was."

"Is he allergic to anything?"

"I have no idea, I told you... I don't know what happened."

They're almost to the wards now, Lexie leaves as soundlessly as she has done everything so far and sprints towards a crash cart. Mark and Cristina stop as more people surround them, asking questions and shouting instructions as Alex is injected with epinepherine while Mark tries to intubate.

"His airway's compromised..." Mark reports, "... throats completely closed... I need a ten blade, he needs a cric..."

Cristina swallows as Mark roughly tears the wrapper off the sterilized scalpel and presses it against Alex's throat. She doesn't want to look but it's a train wreck and she can't seem to turn away and when she blinks and her eyes open again Mark has Alex ventilated and they're moving him to a stretcher and so many people have swarmed and surrounded him that she can't actually see him at all anymore.

"Alex?" she calls, voice no more than a whisper as he disappears down the corridor towards the ER.

Cristina can't help but think that throwing herself at him and then almost killing him probably wasn't what Meredith had in mind when she ordered her to make sure he didn't do anything stupid, but at least he didn't jump off the damn roof.

At least he didn't do that.


End file.
